Every Friday, Powerline has a column from Ammo Grrrll that is a must read for me. This one – absolutely go and read the rest, but this part speaks to the young’uns “back when” and the the miserable little crapheads that think that they are all-knowing adults because SOCIAL JUSTICE!
Young men of my father’s generation, the same age as today’s wretched college crybullies, were storming the beaches of Normandy and Anzio, being strafed by machine gun fire from real triggers. An uncle I never met, my father’s older brother, perished in the Pacific. His picture in his dress Marine uniform graced Grandma’s upright piano til the day she died.
I would love to thank him, of course, for giving his life for liberty and country. But I would be embarrassed to show him a piece of chalk and explain that pitiful muscle-free men the age he was when he died, now cower in fear from a graffito which mentions a political candidate they apparently don’t care for.
Or tell him that the latest cause which has them wrapped around the axle is the “right” for men to potty in the ladies’ room if they are feeling girlish that day. Are they confined in mental hospitals, he might ask? No, Uncle Leland. See, they are the victims, demanding the safe space that eluded you that day in the sky when everyone returned from the sortie but you.
They are parasites who live off your ultimate sacrifice. They have accomplished nothing and probably never will. Even their “oppression” is second- or third-hand at best. Two or three generations ago, black people and their allies braved fire hoses, vicious dogs and worse to win basic civil rights. This current crop of cretins and thugs of every color frequently have to write hate mail to themselves or fashion swastikas from their own poop. Which, come to think of it, expresses their ideology perfectly. Rest in peace, Uncle. Semper Fi.
